


There Will Mainly Be Mattress Dancin'

by yeah_alright



Series: Sin Wagon AU [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Bar, Bisexual Harry Styles, Drinking, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Girl Direction, No Smut, Past Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), but Harry does ride a mechanical bull in a red dress with thigh high slits if that's any consolation, but no one gets overly drunk, but only because I ran out of time, dance club, girl larry, like alcohol is not affecting consent or anything, smutty things definitely happen they're just not actually written out sadly, song: Sin Wagon, sorry the title is a bit of a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright
Summary: When Harry shows up on Louis’ doorstep with all her things, having finally left her shitty boyfriend, Louis’s determined to try to put her feelings for her best friend aside and help her start living her own life. A wild night out might be the new start they both need.A Girl!Larry AU inspired by The Chicks’ song, “Sin Wagon”
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Sin Wagon AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851112
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52
Collections: Prompt 3.4: Sin





	There Will Mainly Be Mattress Dancin'

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge for the prompt "sin". Inspired by The Chicks' song, "Sin Wagon."
> 
> Thanks to Sage for your immediate enthusiasm when I mentioned this inspiration. <33
> 
> This didn't end up being a great week for writing, especially the past few days, so this is unfortunately unbeta'd - please excuse any mistakes.

_Fucking hell._

It’s far too reasonable an hour for someone to be banging so insistently on Louis’ front door. This is drunken 2:00 a.m. pounding. It’s barely half eight. 

“Ease up, eh? I’m coming! Christ,” Louis shouts to God knows who. 

She swings the door open to reveal her best mate, looking an absolute disaster.

“Harry! Are you alright?”

“Don’t I look it?” Harry asks, her eyes wild, her smile a bit deranged, but beautiful as ever. 

Louis has to laugh, because Harry knows she looks well past alright, and she knows Louis knows it. 

She’s carrying a duffle bag in each hand, her chest criss-crossed by leather and nylon straps attached to several cross-body bags of various sizes, their respective zippers straining against the bulk of what’s inside. She’s wearing at least two hats, balanced precariously on her head, a few errant curls having escaped to fall stubbornly in her face. 

“Lou? Can I come in? Bit heavy, all this.”

“Fuck, sorry, Haz, yes, of course,” Louis shakes her head to pull herself out of her daze and steps aside to let Harry in. “Come in, come in.” She grabs the duffle bag closest to her from Harry and Harry drops the other just inside the door with a dramatic groan.

“What’s going on, then? What’s all this? You alright, love?”

Harry shrugs and exhales a huge sigh. Of relief, Louis thinks. 

“Finally left him.”

The fact that Louis doesn’t faint, but instead merely grips the duffle bag she’s holding tightly enough to send a spark of pain from her palms shooting up her arms is maybe the most impressive thing Louis has ever accomplished. 

“What?” she replies, barely above a whisper. “Harry…”

“I’m done letting him push me around, Lou. To hell with him.”

Several choice phrases dance on the tip of Louis’ tongue while another hundred or so fire around in her brain, but they can wait. As Harry looks at Louis, a hint of a smile on her otherwise nerve-wracked face, Louis forgets every single thing she’s ever wanted to scream at the utter prat Harry’s allowed to run (ruin, as far as Louis’s concerned) her life for the better part of three years. She drops the duffle and jogs the few steps between them, throwing her arms around Harry and pulling her into a fierce hug.

“To hell with him,” Louis agrees into the crook of Harry’s neck. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Harry.” 

Harry tightens her hold on Louis at that, and Louis fights back the tears prickling at her eyes. 

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry whispers, her breath heating Louis’ jaw. “I’m proud of me too.” 

After what feels like something close to a lifetime but is probably just shy of a minute, Harry slowly pulls back from their embrace. “So, can I maybe stay here for a bit?” she asks, her voice hopeful.

“Oh I don’t know, Curly,” Louis replies, somehow stamping down the urge to scream “Yes! Please, God, please stay forever!” directly into her face. “We’re usually booked up months in advance...”

Harry shoves playfully at Louis’ shoulder and Louis giggles in response. 

“Don’t be daft. As if you even need to ask.” 

Harry flashes Louis her full, shining smile – the one that brings out _both_ dimples – and Louis scolds herself for being grateful that Harry’s life has just dramatically shifted. But Harry’s smile is so broad, her mossy green eyes more full of life than Louis’s seen in what feels like years, that Louis lets herself off the hook. 

This is the best thing for Harry, finally leaving that twat Danny. 

And if Harry leaving that twat Danny feels like the best possible thing for Louis too, well, that’s hardly her fault, is it? 

Not that Harry’s ever so much as hinted at feelings for Louis that extend beyond their friendship, close as their friendship has always been. But it’s enough that she’s single again, for the first time since Louis'd realized her own feelings. 

It’s enough that Harry’s finally realized she deserves so much better than Danny had ever given her. 

It’s enough that she’s standing here now, beaming at Louis like she can’t imagine a better place to start her life over than right here. 

It’s enough that there’s now a chance (the tiniest chance, but still) that Louis could finally be brave enough to tell Harry she’s been in love with her for two years. 

Because despite the fact that Harry – vibrant, kind, funny, brilliant, beautiful Harry – had decided to spend these last few years sharing her life with a man lacking any qualities that might make him even partially worthy of her, Harry is into women as well. She’s never hidden that, at least not from Louis. And Louis had always been grateful for that. Until she had fallen for Harry. Then it had become a terrible truth to know. And not just because every time Harry pointed out a woman she found attractive (when Danny wasn’t around) it pained Louis, either because she looked nothing like Louis or because she looked enough like Louis to send Louis into a spiral. But because if Louis knew – or even just believed – that Harry could only love men, Louis could have gotten over her. She might have been able to get over her. 

But knowing there was the possibility, however slight, that Harry could someday see Louis the same way Louis sees her? How could Louis ever stop waiting for that possibility? 

She couldn’t. 

She hadn’t. 

And now she’s really in trouble. Because now, for the first time in two years, she can see the possibility in Harry’s eyes, too. 

~

While Harry’s in Louis’ room (Or is it their room, now? Surely Harry won’t sleep on the couch, right?) getting changed to go out, Louis readies them tequila shots. Proper shots, with her good tequila and sea salt and fresh lime wedges. Within five minutes of being here, Harry had proclaimed that tonight was the first night of her new life – that she was tired of wasting her time worrying about being good or responsible or mature – and she wanted to properly celebrate. She wanted to get dressed up and go out and have a wild girls’ night. 

Before she’d grabbed her duffle bags and disappeared into the bedroom, Harry had reached into one of the purses that had been hanging from her when she’d arrived and pulled out two intensely ugly shot glasses, gleefully handing them to Louis. 

“What the everloving fuck are these?” Louis had asked, frowning at the metallic gold-colored glasses. “Oh, Jesus, are these meant to look like bloody bullet casings?”

Harry had giggled as she started walking away with her bags. She turned back, walking backwards a few steps as she called back, “Yep! Danny loves those stupid things. Grabbed them as I was leaving. Fuck’im!” 

Louis laughs to herself as she fills the glasses with the nicest liquor that’s likely ever touched them. She picks them up and turns her head halfway in the direction of her bedroom to shout, “Harry! First round’s ready! Come and get your bullet shot!”

“Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,” Harry responds as she opens the bedroom door. 

Harry emerges from the bedroom just as Louis turns around. She's wearing a bright red dress and a shy smile. Louis inhales a sharp breath at the sight of her and drops both shot glasses.

She knows that dress.

_Fuck._

Louis winces as tequila splashes across her feet and her kitchen floor and Harry barks a laugh. 

“At least those glasses are plastic. Much as I’d have loved for them to break.” 

Louis forces a laugh, hoping it will help cover up how much her jaw had surely dropped at seeing Harry. 

“I’ll get this, Lou. Go ahead and go get ready. I’ll wipe up and pour us new shots.”

Louis has no idea if Harry is just being kind, pretending not to know why Louis had dropped the glasses (is it possible she doesn’t realize how devastating she looks in that dress?), or if being so naturally clumsy herself makes it so it doesn’t occur to her there might be an actual cause for dropping things. Whatever the reason, Louis is grateful for the chance to escape for a few minutes without having to explain herself. 

How would she explain to Harry that seeing her in that dress – with its plunging neckline and playful draping, hiding two thigh-high (very high) slits that only make themselves known when she’s walking quickly – transported Louis back to the first time she’d seen her wear it? How could she even explain why she remembered a dress Harry had only worn one time, two years ago? The night they’d gone out, just the two of them, for the first time in as long as Louis could remember, Harry having basically vanished into her relationship for months after she and Danny had moved in together. The night Louis had realized _exactly_ how much she’d missed Harry. The night that Louis had realized her feelings for her best mate were so far beyond platonic she might not ever recover. 

Louis allows flashes of that night to wash over her as she fixes her hair and carefully selects an outfit, not fully realizing she’s putting on her nicest suit – the one that hugs her bum best of basically anything she owns – until she’s almost fully dressed. 

She just doesn’t want Harry to feel overdressed. 

She wants to be worthy of walking into rooms with her tonight. 

“Sorry about that, Haz,” Louis says as she walks back into the kitchen. “Didn’t even get to gush over your dress before I made a mess. You look amazing.”

Harry blushes and she casts her eyes down as a soft smile fills her face. Louis immediately starts trying to convince herself the blush is from the shot (or two) Harry probably poured herself while Louis was getting changed, but finds herself distracted by the way Harry’s eyelashes fan gently out above her cheeks. 

Louis swallows to try to quell the dryness in her throat. “Don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress like that in years,” she says, making her way to where Harry has refilled both shot glasses, salt and limes ready.

Thank God. Louis needs a shot as immediately as possible. 

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, it’s an old one, but I haven’t worn it in ages. I thought about getting rid of it basically every time I culled through my closet to find stuff to donate, because it felt sad to let a dress like this waste away in the back of my closet. Danny never wanted me to wear it – he calls this color ‘fuck me’ red and always said no girlfriend of his had any business wearing it out, giving people the wrong idea.” 

“Prick,” Louis mutters, reaching for the salt shaker and licking her hand.

Harry laughs and nods. “Innit? Thank God I held onto it.”

Louis had, in fact, been silently thanking God for exactly that. 

“Hell yes,” Louis says instead. “Would have been a shame to give that up. You look incredible.”

“You clean up nice, yourself, Lou,” she replies, a bit more softly, Louis thinks. 

“Cheers,” Harry says, back to her normal volume, as she sprinkles salt on her own hand. 

“Cheers,” Louis replies and licks the salt off hers before tossing back her shot. 

Their eyes meet as they each bring a lime wedge to their mouths and Harry winks as she bites down and sucks. 

Louis winces at the sour juice filling her mouth, grateful for the forced expression masking whatever fond or overwhelmed face she would have undoubtedly made otherwise. “Another?” Louis asks as soon as they’ve both set down their limes. 

She’s going to need some more liquid courage to get through this night. 

~

Their first stop is Louis’ favorite bar – a lesbian bar not far from her flat that Harry’s been to a few times with her. Harry’d insisted they go there, though Louis had offered a few other nearby options, proclaiming this a men-free night. And Louis certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. 

Just before they walk in, Harry suddenly grips Louis’ hand, forcing her to pause. 

“Shit, Lou. Do you think I’m overdressed?”

“You absolutely are,” Louis laughs, and Harry turns toward her with a pout. “But fuck it, we’re overdressed together, yeah? And we’re celebrating.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “Yeah, ok, you’re right.” 

“You look perfect, Haz,” Louis says, squeezing her hand. “Anyone who looks at you is just going to be thinking that.”

Harry smiles broadly and she leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Thanks, Lou. You look amazing, too. Everyone’s going to be jealous of us.”

Louis huffs a laugh and she pulls the door open for both of them, willing her veins to redistribute the heated blood filling her face to the rest of her body. “Let’s get you a drink, eh, love?”

Harry nods and leads them to the bar, keeping hold of Louis’ hand. 

They spend the next hour nursing a round of fancy cocktails before switching to pints, giggling and joking and ignoring everyone but each other and the (incredibly hot, they both agree) bartender. Although Harry occasionally scans the crowd, she seems to Louis to simply be enjoying seeing everyone having a good time rather than actually checking anyone out, her gaze never landing on anyone until it returns to Louis. 

Louis feels a bit like she’s playing a game of whack-a-mole with herself, swatting down the tiny bits of hope that pop up at every smile, every wink, every touch Harry sends her way, no matter how small or fleeting.

Luckily, Harry eventually saves Louis from herself when she remembers there’s a mechanical bull in the very back of the bar that Harry’s always wanted to try but never has. 

Tonight’s the start of her new life, she reminds Louis, standing up from her bar stool with conviction that makes Louis’ heart clench. 

God, she loves her.

Just as Harry looks ready to march off to the back towards her new bull-riding destiny, she suddenly pauses and bites her bottom lip. “Oh,” she whispers. 

“What is it?”

“Shit, I forgot. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Louis presses, unwilling to let whatever is holding Harry back win. “You were so excited! Come on, H, I’ll go with you. You’ll be brilliant.”

“No, I…” Harry pauses, a flush painting her cheeks. She’s not making eye contact with Louis. 

“Harry, what’s gotten into you all of a sudd–”

“I’ve not got any panties on!” Harry hisses, darting her eyes back and forth as if checking to see if anyone overheard her.

“Harry!” Louis exclaims, louder than she’d intended. “Shit, sorry,” she whispers hurriedly, “I mean, ok, well...um, you mean...not even floss?”

Harry laughs at Louis’ reaction. “Nope,” she says, popping the p and looking awfully pleased with herself.

“Well, Harriet, I _never,”_ Louis teases, trying to distract herself from the heat pooling between her legs. 

Harry devolves into giggles and Louis can’t help but join her. 

“Well, you know,” Harry shrugs. “I did say I wanted a wild night. Felt a bit wicked, going commando.” 

“That you did, love. Well, we’d better think of something. Can’t let a little thing like this stop you from riding that bull, can we?”

“Certainly not.” Harry nods emphatically. “What do we do, Lou?”

“Just wait here,” Louis says, remembering something she’d never really given a second thought since probably her second or third time in the bar years back. “Be back in two shakes. Get us a shot?” 

Harry nods. “On it.”

Louis returns a few minutes later to find Harry standing with two delightfully colored shots. 

“Trade?” Louis asks, grabbing one of the shots with one hand and handing over a pair of knickers with the other, twirling them on her finger with a flourish. 

“Louis!” Harry squeals, grabbing them with her freed hand. “Where did you even get these?”

Louis laughs, delighted by Harry’s reaction. “They sell them at the front. Look at the back.”

Harry takes her shot and hands the empty glass to Louis so she can hold the pants up. 

“Oh my God,” Harry laughs. “‘Riding Champ?’ These are ridiculous, Louis! You expect me to put these on?”

“Seem a bit perfect to me,” Louis responds, quirking an eyebrow, “if a bit premature. Think you’re meant to get those _after_ you manage a ride.”

Harry meets Louis’ gaze, a hint of challenge flashing in her eyes. “Guess I better go earn them, then.”

Louis has no idea how, but she manages to hold eye contact as she hums. “‘Spose you better.”

~

It’s not as though Louis thought watching Harry ride a mechanical bull in a fire red dress with two slits up the front would be boring. She just didn’t think it would feel quite so life threatening. 

The collective attention of the full bar is fixated on Harry from the moment she swings herself onto the bull. The cheers and shouts and whistles that fill the space the entire time the machine rocks and jerks Harry around should have provided some distraction, except that Louis can’t hear a sound. 

The room had gone completely silent the first time Harry had made eye contact with her, a few seconds after the bull had begun moving. From that second, Louis had been transfixed. The crowd around Harry had blurred and sound had ceased to reach Louis’ ears. All she could hear was her own heart pounding in her ears. All she could see was Harry, gripping the reins with one hand, the muscles of her forearm straining in a way that made Louis realize forearms might be the sexiest part of a woman, arching and curving her back in reaction to the bucks of the machine between her legs. Her legs. Fuck. Her long, lithe, fully exposed legs, pressed firmly into the sides of the machine desperately trying to rid itself of her. Louis had never related less to an inanimate object. 

And worse, Harry’d sprinkled in direct eye contact throughout her ride. Louis’d thought her heart was stopping for the last time every time. Somehow, despite the smile splitting her face the entire ride, Harry’s eyes had burned with an intensity Louis had never seen in them before. Had never felt from anyone before. 

By the time Harry’s dismounting and jogging excitedly back to Louis, Louis’s exhausted, like _she’s_ the one who’s just spent the last minute straining with all her might to hold on for dear life. 

“I did it, Lou!” Harry shouts, throwing her arms around Louis, nearly pulling them both to the floor. 

Louis can’t help but laugh. “You did, Haz. Absolutely smashed it.”

Harry’s dimples are so deep Louis’s half-worried her cheeks might fully cave in. 

“I can’t believe I stayed on the whole time!” Harry shouts, fighting to be heard over the crowd applauding for the next person who’s taking a turn. 

“I can’t really either, if I’m honest,” Louis laughs. 

“I feel _incredible!_ Like I can do anything!”

Louis smiles and she squeezes Harry’s shoulders. “I’m glad you had such fun, Haz. You looked great up there.”

“Must have,” Harry smirks. “Thought your jaw was going to hit the floor.”

Louis’ heart stops for the hundredth time that night and Harry giggles. 

Before Louis can figure out something clever – or anything at all – to say, Harry jumps up and claps her hands, exclaiming, “Let’s go dancing, Lou! I haven’t danced in ages, and riding that bull made me really want to. Can we?” 

“‘Course, H. It’s your night. I’d love to go dancing with you. It has been far too long, you’re right. And this dress demands to be seen.” 

“So does this suit,” Harry responds with a wink before smacking Louis on the arse. “Let’s go.” 

~

It’s several blocks to the club and they decide to walk, Harry saying she wants to cool off a bit after her ride _(Jesus Christ)_ and get some fresh air to clear her head a bit. Neither of them is too drunk, but they’re well beyond buzzed, and Louis agrees it’s a good idea to take a little break before drinking any more. 

They hold hands the entire walk, Harry talking animatedly about how much fun she’s having tonight, detailing every twist and turn the bull had thrown at her and how exhilarating it had been to stay on as the full crowd cheered her on, and Louis has no idea whether Harry’s able to cool off, but Louis definitely isn’t. 

~

Harry’s clearly riding high on a heady mix of alcohol and triumph, and Louis worries as they approach the dance club that Harry is looking to pull. The thought of her going off with a stranger, leaving Louis to return to her flat alone, Harry’s belongings scattered all around, is enough to make her chest ache. 

But just as she had when they’d arrived at the bar earlier in the night, Harry squeezes Louis’ hand a few feet outside the door. Unlike before, though, when she turns to look at Louis now, there’s no concern in her eyes, no worry in her expression. She’s smiling wide and staring at Louis with an expression so open it takes Louis’ breath away. 

If Harry notices how stunned Louis feels, she doesn’t let it show. She simply leads Louis inside, just as she had before. Instead of walking them to the bar, she heads straight for the dancing throng of people, colored spotlights traversing the crowd, illuminating individual faces and body parts in quick flashes as a throbbing base line vibrates the floor beneath them. 

When they’re halfway there, Harry turns back to look at Louis. “Did you need a drink?” she yells over the music. 

Louis shakes her head. 

She doesn’t need anything right now. 

Harry smiles and turns back towards the crowd, pulling Louis a little more forcefully so Louis quickens her pace to catch up, bumping their shoulders together when she does. 

When they reach the edge of the crowd, Louis expects Harry to pause and turn to face her, but instead she dives straight into the sea of bodies, gripping Louis’ hand tighter and leading them further and further until they’re surrounded. 

Louis hasn’t been in the middle of a dance club, sweaty bodies pressed and writhing against her, in quite a long time. And she hadn’t missed it much, if she’s honest. But she has to admit, this feels different. She and Harry have been dancing together loads of times, mostly when they were much younger, in the first years of their friendship. And it had always been fun.

But it had never been like this. 

Harry had never stayed quite so close to her. 

She’d never kept her eyes quite so trained on Louis, staring at her with a fervor that raised Louis’ temperature much more than the jacket she still had on or the strangers’ bodies who were keeping the material pressed into her skin. 

And she had _definitely_ never looked Louis up and down the way she is now, raking her gorgeous eyes across every inch of her face, pausing at Louis’ lips as she darted her tongue out to wet them, before continuing their journey downward. 

Her eyes never so much as flick to anyone else, and Louis feels herself growing heavy under the weight of Harry’s attention. Louis wants so badly to allow her own eyes to wander over Harry’s face and neck, mapping out every spot she’s desperate to run her lips and tongue and teeth over. Wants so badly to feel she can let her gaze rove down Harry’s chest, over the soft curves of her breasts and down to her waist before running down the length of her legs, ideally with her fingers lightly trailing just behind. 

She wants so badly to do that, but, despite Harry’s surprising lack of any hesitance to do exactly that to her, Louis still feels like she shouldn’t. Like it would be taking advantage. 

Or maybe she’s just scared, knowing all the feelings that would be behind it, and having no reason to think Harry’s not just after a bit of fun on this wild girls’ night of hers.

As Harry’s eyes flick back up to meet Louis’ from where they’d been resting – again, _fuck_ – on Louis’ mouth, Louis finally loses the battle with herself, just for a second, and her eyes fall to Harry’s lips. They’re glistening as though Harry had just wet them with her tongue, the soft pink appearing more vibrant under the intense lights of the club. A smirk begins to dance across them, forcing Louis to pull her eyes away, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest. 

Just then, Harry leans in close enough to whisper (it’s just too loud in the club to try to speak at a normal volume is all) that she’s really grateful Louis had gotten her those ridiculous novelty knickers back at the bar. “It would have been so awful to try to ride that bull without them.” 

Louis snickers, relieved for the bit of levity. She adjusts her head slightly, just enough to whisper back to Harry that she can imagine it wouldn’t have been quite as fun to flash everyone, as nice as the crowd had been. “And, anyway,” she added, “can’t imagine that saddle is very sanitary.”

Harry pulls back enough for Louis to see her lips curl into a smug smile as she raises an eyebrow. 

She leans back in and breathes even closer to Louis’ ear, tickling her softly with her lips and sending a jolt of electricity through Louis. “Yes, all that, of course” Harry practically purrs, vibrating Louis’ skin, “but moreso because I had no idea riding that thing would make me so wet. I would have made a mess.”

Louis freezes. Even if she had any idea what to say in response, there’s no way her brain would successfully get her lips to cooperate enough to form the words. 

Her hand, which had somehow made itself to Harry’s hip without her realizing it, squeezes instinctively, her fingers pressing into Harry’s soft flesh.

“See,” Harry whispers, and before Louis realizes what’s happening, Harry’s grabbed Louis’ hand from her hip and is moving it, slowly, deliberately, towards the top of the slit of her dress. Louis can’t process what Harry’s doing, so she just lets it happen. 

She lets Harry guide her hand over her thigh until she feels the fabric give way to the heat of Harry’s smooth skin. She lets her press her hand against her thigh so their fingertips can dip under the panel of fabric hanging between Harry’s legs. She lets Harry continue to move their hands together under the fabric of the skirt, between Harry’s legs, until Louis’ fingers reach the warm, soaked material clinging to Harry’s folds.

Louis tries to pull her hand back before the images of Harry riding the mechanical bull – colored now with the knowledge of her panties growing more wet with every press of her flesh against the leather of the saddle – can flood Louis’ mind and cause her knees to finally buckle. She tries, but Harry holds her hand where it is. 

She is successful, though, at pulling her head back a few inches so she can at least see Harry’s face. 

Harry’s expression is much less confident than Louis would have expected given how bold she’s just been – is still being. Her gaze is searching, uncertain. Nervous, even. Louis doesn’t say anything, but she stops trying to pull her hand away from Harry, and Harry keeps hers held on top of Louis,’ holding it against her warmth, barely hidden under the bright red material of her dress, the people surrounding them none the wiser. 

After a few moments of staring at each other, both completely still despite the movement all around them, Harry’s gaze intensifies, the uncertainty falling away, replaced with a look Louis can only read as desire. Harry licks her bottom lip before biting it gently and Louis crooks her fingers slightly, pressing them into Harry’s softness. Harry inhales a sharp breath and surges forward, capturing Louis’ lips in her own. 

For the second time that night, Louis doesn’t hear a sound. 

She doesn’t feel anything but Harry’s plush, slick lips, pressing insistently against her own, feeling to Louis like they’re exactly where they’ve always belonged. 

Feeling a bit like sweet salvation.

~

Harry doesn’t sleep on the couch. 

And she looks just as devastatingly beautiful riding Louis as she did that bull.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :) Tumblr post is [here](https://uhoh-but-yeah-alright.tumblr.com/post/624177139363758080) if you'd like to share. 
> 
> To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sin), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge (including years 1-3), [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works). You can also find the masterpost for this year’s challenge [here](https://wordplayfics.tumblr.com/post/622306139518926848/wordplay-2020-every-week-for-five-weeks-a-prompt).
> 
> Thanks as always to Sus for running this great challenge. <3


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